


but bear this in mind

by lostinsanity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Body Worship, Eating Disorder, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, insecure!louis, selfharm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:11:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinsanity/pseuds/lostinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Louis can’t love himself, Harry will love him enough for the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but bear this in mind

Harry always only had one thing he could trust, one thing he held on to with quivering fingers and burning skin and never let go of, and that was Louis. Louis, with his eyes as blue as the ocean and his smooth, feathered brown hair and his soft little tummy that Harry’s head lay upon under the duvet while he ran his hand up and down it until they both fell asleep. Louis, whose side slid into Harry’s like a puzzle piece, whose hair came up right below Harry’s nose and tickled it when Harry pulled him into a hug, whose head fit perfectly into that place where Harry’s neck met his shoulders.

Louis always promised that as long as he was there, everything would be okay. He promised that he would be there forever.

Louis lied.

~

Nobody saw it coming. It snuck up on them all, slipping its icy fingers beneath Harry’s blazer and sending a chill up his spine. It gripped Louis by the back of the neck and pulled at the hair there. Something was _off,_ something was just not right. Harry found Louis leaning back along the patio with empty eyes and found himself observing as Louis’ hands were no longer held so firmly and his eyes dimmed.

It wasn’t long before it had its talons wrapped tight around Louis’ neck, strangling him into obedience, pulling his hair until he turned around and did what it wanted him to. Louis was its prey; Harry just sat and watched.

On days when Louis was in a crowd, it seemed to latch onto his chest and suck the liveliness right out of him. His face would turn pale and eyes blank and his reach to the fans would elongate and thin out and stretch and stretch and stretch until it wasn’t there anymore. He’d look at them with pressed lips and white cheeks and turn from the cameras and push everyone away, even Harry. Harry’s skin itched for Louis’ hands, but Louis was having his own trouble keeping from passing out, so Harry would have to wait.

When they were back in the car, Harry would turn to see Louis with his forehead pressed to the glass and fists clenched tight around his wrists, and his hands trembling. Nights like that were the nights that Louis would retreat to the bathroom for hours unless Harry tugged him down onto the bed first and kissed along his collarbone and rocked back and forth and gently traced Louis’ curves until he finally began to breathe again, and then Harry would cuddle Louis into his warm chest and play with his hair until he fell asleep.

But that only worked for a while. Harry soon found himself in bed alone, pulling the sheets up to his neck and trying to ignore the cold emptiness next to him where Louis’ body should have been. Harry would wake up and Louis would be there, awake, lucid, with red-rimmed eyes and pressed lips and sleeves pulled down over his hands. Harry would try to talk to Louis, get him to speak, ask him what’s wrong, but Louis would never listen, would never speak, just looked blankly ahead and hugged his own chest.

It took days after each encounter for Louis’ eyes to turn blue again and for his grin to reappear onto his face. On those long lines of promo and signings and travelling and being pushed and shoved and screamed at, he barely spoke, barely ate, only did enough to keep him upright and healthy. He’d retreat away to their hotel room or the tour bus at unusually early hours of the night, and he’d usher Harry away and tell him to go have fun. Harry would go and come back buzzed and find Louis curled into a tight ball beneath a blanket with his sleeves tugged down low, as always when he was upset.

Harry would be so scared, he was always so scared, to pull up those sleeves to find gashes, pulsating against the healthy skin around them, red and sore and bleeding. It scared him enough to make him delusional—he’d become wary whenever Louis wore anything resembling long sleeves. His eyes would grow to rest only on Louis’ wrists, for fear of finding a burning secret there, but he never did. What glimpses he did catch were only smooth, unmarred skin. He’d always let out a deep sigh then, but he’d always get a churning at the pit of his stomach whenever he saw Louis with his sleeves pulled down again, and the fear would come back.

Harry wanted so desperately to fix Louis, to put his hands on his chest and make the hurt go away. Louis was falling deeper and deeper into the abyss, and sometimes Harry even wished that if he couldn’t pull Louis up, Louis would at least hold tight onto Harry and pull him down too.

It became nearly impossible to piece Louis together. Even when they were on holiday now, away from the crowds that pulled at Louis’ face and his hair and his clothes and snipped him apart bit by bit, Louis would come home and stare at the television, seeing nothing. He’d let Harry curve into his side and wrap his arms around him and pull him in close, but for some reason, they didn’t fit together quite so well anymore. Louis’ hip jutted out into Harry’s and his soft little tummy that was so smooth and warm was replaced with a thin abdomen. Harry could push his fingers beneath Louis’ shirt and feel his ribs, each and every one.

Harry struggled to remember the last time Louis ate.

Harry had to watch as the tremors began to shake Louis’ body harder, more violent now. He watched as Louis stood in front of the mirror and pinched at the skin along his hips and his abdomen and frown with glazed over eyes. Harry would reach over and place his hand on Louis’ waist and it would stretch across his entire side and Harry would frown because Louis was getting so _thin._ He’d pull Louis towards him and fit him between his legs and kiss him, and Louis would push back against Harry’s lips and almost try to pull away until Harry slipped his hand beneath his shirt and gently rubbed tiny circles into Louis’ hip and he crumbled beneath Harry’s touch.

Louis would furiously style and re-style his hair, pull down his shirt until he was so unsatisfied that he changed, tug his pants tight and stare in the mirror each time they were about to go out. Louis would get home and fall onto the sofa and press his hands to his face, and Harry would come up behind him and press kisses into his neck until he stopped shaking so hard.

The mornings soon came where Louis refused to get out of bed; instead, he curled his knees into his chest and buried his face into the pillow and wouldn’t move. Usually, Harry would come and lay behind him and pull Louis close, resting his lips in his hair and whispering sweet nothings to him. But there were days too that Louis pushed Harry away, locked the door, put his walls up and hid. Harry would slip into the kitchen on those days, pour out a glass of burning liquid, and knock it back to numb himself.

Most nights became nights of Louis locked in the bathroom alone, a crack of light spilling out from beneath the door into their bedroom. The shower ran for hours, hot steam seeping through the doors so that Harry could smell it, and Louis would come out wrapped in a towel, skin pink and swollen and rubbed raw. Harry’s hand would curl along Louis’ hip and pull him towards him in bed. Louis was clean and warm and smelled of cranberries, but he was always submissive, just let Harry trail his fingers down his stinging skin and kiss him softly and push into him gently, and it was rare if Louis even kissed back.

 

~

Harry was sick of sitting and watching. He was sick of letting Louis waste away and sick of him being strangled into submission. Louis almost looked translucent now, so thin he was see-through, his eyes grayscale and skin cold as granite. Harry was sick of Louis’ pain, sick of it all. Harry had to do something. He could barely hold himself together anymore—sick of hiding, sick of putting up with it all. Watching the man he loved break down in front of him was _the worst thing he’s ever had to see._

What Louis didn’t know was how much Harry loved Louis’ little imperfections. His soft, smooth little tummy, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled big, his thighs and his calves and especially his bum. Each of those… things that drove Louis nuts, that he tried so hard to get rid of. It made Harry shake his head, because it baffled him that Louis didn’t see it. He just didn’t see that every single thing he did was perfect in Harry’s eyes. If Louis had set their flat on fire, Harry would find it perfect, just because it was _Louis._ And he couldn’t stand that Louis couldn’t see that.

And when Louis sang— _God,_ when he sang. When Louis sang, it sounded like a million golden rays of sunshine colliding together, like warm honey, like hot tea. Packed with emotion and pain and everything Louis was thinking. When Louis sang, he didn’t just sing. He let his heart out into the music, took a bit of his broken soul and slipped it into each note. And Harry just wanted to reach out and grab the words as they slipped from Louis’ perfect lips, pluck out that little piece of Louis that was stuck in there, and place it back into him. Louis’ voice sent tingles up Harry’s spine and made it feel like ants were crawling up and down his legs. Louis’ voice was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen, and no matter what anyone said to Louis, he was convinced that he couldn’t sing.

And that made Harry’s heart drop.

“I’m getting a personal trainer,” Louis said one night over dinner, picking at the food that was on his plate, pushing it into little piles and squashing them with his fork. Harry watched as he did, feeling this little pit in his stomach that sank deeper and deeper with each passing second, with each swipe of Louis' empty fork and with each tap of it against the porcelain plate.

“You’re what?” Harry asked, disbelieving, because his Louis didn’t need that. His Louis was just perfect the way he was. “You don’t need one, Louis.”

Louis placed his fork down and sighed, closing his eyes, and Harry could feel the pain on Louis’ breath; he could feel it almost as if it were his own. “Harry, don’t pretend you haven’t seen how fat I’ve gotten—“

“I don’t ever want to hear those words leave your mouth ever again, Louis.”

When Louis’ head lifted to meet Harry’s gaze, Harry could swear he could see glistening tears glazed over his suffering blue eyes. All Harry longed to do was take Louis away from everything he was feeling, to take away the hurt and the pain, to bring him to a place where they could be alone with each other, where nobody could bother them, where Louis could be happy. All Harry wanted was for Louis to be happy.

“Hear what, Harry?” The words cascaded from Louis’ lips like a waterfall, and even now, as he spoke, Harry could hear the same emotion as he could when Louis was singing. “The truth? The truth, that I’m getting fat and you’re lying to me about it? I’m sick of having to pretend like people don’t see it, like it’s not happening. I’m not like you, Harry. I’m not the guy all the girls love. Not that it really matters. But I’m just not like you. I can’t sing like you, I don’t look like you, I just can’t be the way I’m expected, and God fucking damnit, Harry, I’m getting fat!”

And as Louis spoke, as his voice raised, octave after octave, building to a crescendo and crashing back down into silence, a tear fell down his cheek. He got up from his seat, shoved the chair back, and ran, fast as he could, tripping over his feet just to get to his room and curl up beneath the warm, forgiving covers of their bed, where he could be alone. Harry reached out behind him, reached out to touch him, but he couldn’t. It was just like it always was—Harry was so close to Louis, but still, no matter how close they became, he couldn’t touch him.

It only took a moment’s thought for Harry to leap up and chase Louis up to their room, where he was cocooned in their duvet, curled into the smallest ball imaginable, arms crossed tightly over his stomach.

“Take your clothes off,” Harry told him, no buildup, just abruptly.

“Harry, please, not now, please—“

“Just listen to me.” Harry made sure there was a raspy, desperate tone to his voice. He didn’t have to work hard. “Please, Louis.”

Tentatively, Louis slipped his shirt off, peeled his jeans off, wincing at how tight they were. His jeans shouldn’t be that tight, not in his mind. He shouldn’t have to work to get into them. He pulled the duvet back over his body, hiding from Harry. Hiding his imperfect body from Harry.

But Harry wasn’t having it. “Stop,” he whispered, taking his hand and gently pushing the duvet away. “Don’t hide from me. Please don’t hide from me.”

Louis bowed his head, embarrassment sneaking through his cheeks, painting a crimson blush on them, making him furrow his brow and squeeze his eyes closed and curl his arms around his abdomen. He felt Harry climb onto the bed beside him, and soon felt his soft breath fanning against his shoulder and the smoothness of Harry's skin up against his own. Louis opened his eyes to see that Harry had stripped down to his boxers, too.

“I love you so much,” Harry said quietly, almost too quiet to be heard.

Louis took a deep breath. “I know.”

“No. You don’t know.” Harry shifted, leaning up upon his elbow, and Louis tried hard, so hard to cover his body with his arms, but it didn’t work. There was just _too much_ of him. “You don’t know, Louis. I am _in love_ with you. Don’t you understand how much I need you?”

Louis turned from Harry. “You don’t need me. You don’t, I’m so…I’m not like you, Harry. You’re so perfect and I’m not.” He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes closed and slowly letting his breath out. "Everyone--everyone loves you. I'm just the.. extra one. I'm nothing like you. You're beautiful and thin and muscular and I'm just... not."

“But you are.” Before Louis knew what was even happening, Harry’s face was up front to his, with his brow furrowed and eyes dull, painful. Louis knew this was hurting Harry. But it was the truth. “You don’t understand—“

“But my stomach—“

“Your stomach is perfect.” Harry struggled to find more words, to make himself literate, but he couldn’t. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath before leaning down and pressing a soft, gentle kiss to the soft space just beneath Louis’ navel, feeling the warm, soft skin against his lips. “It’s perfect. It's soft and smooth and I love being able to wrap my arms around your waist and feel it. And your thighs,” he continued, moving down and nuzzling his cheek into one before pressing a kiss to the inner side of each, feeling Louis take a deep breath. Louis shook beneath him, Harry moving up a bit and peppering more kisses to Louis' thighs, fleeting like the beat of butterfly wings against his smooth, golden skin. “They’re beautiful. They’re muscular and strong. Strong, just like you. And your hands, your hands are so small and they fit in mine, just like they were made to.” Harry fit his own palm to Louis, where Louis slid his fingers between each of Harry’s. Harry pushed himself closer to Louis’ side, breathing in his beautiful scent. “I love when your eyes get all tiny and crinkly when you grin, and I love running my fingers through your hair, and I love how no matter how big I get, you still hold me when I need a hug.”

Harry peered up at Louis to see him with his eyes closed so tightly, Harry was worried it would hurt him. He was gnawing on his lip and breathing in, slowly, before opening his eyes, his sad, sad eyes.

“And the way you sing,” Harry continued, mouthing the words all the way up into Louis’ neck, brushing his lips against his skin. “Louis, when you sing, it makes people want to cry." He paused, sucking a lovebite into the skin right at the base of Louis' jaw, running his lip over it softly and pressing a little kiss to it as he pulled away. Louis gasped softly, his sweet breath fanning over the bridge of Harry's nose. "It's wonderful, so soft and sweet and perfectly broken and the way you take a piece of yourself and slip it into your words. You have such a beautiful voice, and, you just don’t _see_ it. And I can’t figure out why you can’t see it.” Taking his hand, Harry tilted Louis’ face towards his own, staring into his eyes. “Louis, I am in love with you. And your imperfections make you perfect. And I sound like a sappy teenager right now, but I don’t care, because it’s all true.”

“Do you—“

Harry shook his head before leaning forward and pushing his lips to Louis’, kissing away the hurt, the pain, the tears. Making it all better for his Louis. “It’s those little things that make you, you, Louis. It’s those things that make me love you. Do you understand me?”

The silent tears running down Louis’ face and the soft smile upon his lips said enough.

“I love you, Harry,” he whispered.

“I know.”

Harry leaned down again, dipping and closing the space between his lips and Louis', pressing them softly, bodies pushing together until they were nearly formed into one, one entity, one being. They kissed and collided until they were no longer Louis and Harry but LouisandHarry, a jumble of words and empty promises and misshapen dreams but one thing solid and steady and _there_ \--the fact that they both loved each other. 

Harry slipped his fingers gently against Louis' hip, sliding his thumb beneath the band of Louis' boxers and running it down against the sharpness of his hipbone. Their lips remained connected, moving with each other and Harry nibbled a bit on Louis' lower lip. He pulled Louis' boxers to his ankles before tugging off his own and pulling back, just looking into Louis' eyes, those eyes that were blue as the ocean and so full of beauty.

"I love you too, you know," Louis said, barely loud enough for Harry to hear as he leaned over the bed and grabbed a small tube from the dresser beside them. Harry just smiled softly, wonderfully, his lips pulling across his face just the slightest bit as he coated his fingers, pushing one up against Louis softly and soon inside his velvety smooth warmth, earning the prettiest little whimper from the prettiest little boy. He added a second, slowly pushing deeper into Louis and pressing up against his walls just a bit, bit by bit as he kissed along Louis' hips.

"So beautiful," Harry murmured, words slurred as his lips slipped along Louis' skin. "You're so, so beautiful." He twisted his fingers, pushing sideways with one and upwards with the other, and Louis moaned softly, his hips pushing up, searching for something. 

"Just wait, baby," Harry said quietly as he pulled his fingers out, crawling up and pressing a fleeting kiss to Louis' pink, shiny lips. "I'll make you feel good, just wait."

Louis nodded, waiting, hair fanned out against the pillow and lips fallen open just the slightest bit, chest moving up and down with the rhythm of his racing heart. Harry slipped the lube over himself and moved up, staring down at the man he loved, and slowly, gently pushed in. Louis held his breath until Harry began to move, slipping out and back in with slow, passionate movements, elbows positioned at either side of Louis' head and nose just centimeters from the precious tip of Louis'. Louis' legs wrapped around Harry's waist and Louis' hands reached up into Harry's hair, pulling him down and closing the space once again, connecting them, melting deeper and deeper into one person again, merging and melting and loving and just everything all at once, all these feelings and perfection and _love_ and it felt like they were suspended in time, like they were the only things left in the world, that everything was frozen but them. And even as Harry pushed Louis deeper into that white-hot burning feeling that crept up his spine and Louis did the same to Harry, Harry pulled Louis' small little hand from his hair and twined his fingers into Louis', just because he knew they _fit_ there, and soon it was over and they were soft and weak and malleable, putty in each others' hands, melting deeper into the same puddle of _them._   

Harry's cheek lay against Louis' chest as it rose and fell with the deep, deep breaths that slipped through his lungs. And they stayed like that, for a while, just the two of them and nothing else, until Harry looked up and Louis' eyes were closed, thick eyelashes resting against perfect cheeks, and Harry knew everything would be okay.

Maybe now Louis would love himself half as much as Harry loved him.


End file.
